Pokémon: Until Next Season"
by Cardy
Summary: Head Pocket Monster Coach Duncan MacDuff Leslie must turn his Pokémon Battling Team around for a winning Seasons, to not only keep his Job, and more importanly, to progress his Squad of Pocket Monsters to the best they can possibly be.


"Pokémon:  
  
Until Next Season"  
  
Written and ã copyrighted by Matthew Benjamin Abernathy I  
  
Pokémon, Rocket Gang, and all Pocket Monster Characters were created by Toshihiro Ono. The same were first published by Shogakukan, Incorporated, and ã copyrighted by Nintendo, CREATURES, and GAME FREAK.  
  
All other Human Characters, including Duncan MacDuff Leslie were created and ã copyrighted by Matthew Benjamin Abernathy I.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Prologue: In Sports, The Year Never Ends  
  
The Flashes of the Cameras signaled the Fact that it was all over. And it was not truly over. It never was when it came to Sports. Just one endless Cycle … that never came to a Close even when the final Battle had been fought … it never ended. This is especially true for Imperial Pokémon League and Japanese Institutional Pokémon Association Fans! In the united States of America, they had enormous College Football Stadiums. In Europe and South America the Soccer Coliseums were even larger. Now, in the Empire of Japan … WHEW! Those Pokémon Gymnasiums made Midgets of the rest! And it never ended.  
  
Even for Coach Leslie … loathing this Press Conference with every Ounce of Will left in him … he looked at this being the End … for now. His Image was being captured on Chemical Film with each Exposure being callously ignited and wasted. He saw some thing in the Flashes. With each Flash, he saw a certain Period of Time that it took to waste away into nothing. It was living … for just a brief Instant of a Second … before dying just as quickly … and vanishing, leaving nothing but a Memory … and his Photograph in the Sports Section of many of Tokyo's Newspapers.  
  
That is what he saw in the Flash: an Instance in Time … one of Glory and Humiliation. As soon as one of the Flashes ignited, he heard a Whistle blow to start a Match, and once the Flash died into nothingness, he saw him self lose. That brief Flash … that brief Essence of Glory … that one Moment in Time where he was closer to obtaining Greatness than ever before … dying away … at the Hands of the bitterest of Rivals, and in the worst possible Fashions.  
  
Hands were being raised. Questions were flying forth from the Mouths of Sports Writers and Journalists. Clicking and snapping (that rivaled a Swarm of Cicadas) went on endlessly from the many various Brands of expensive Cameras issued out to the Photojournalists. Most major (and not a few minor) Television and Radio broadcasting Stations had Representatives, Paparazzi, Reporters, or Writers on hand for the final Press Conference of the Season … that is now last Season.  
  
It is time to finally look ahead, yes? The Future must be bright, yes? Next Season surely would be better, right? He knew which Game he would be looking forward to the most. No matter which Division it would be, the I.P.L. or the J.I.P.A., Leslie was taking his Team to the Tournament after defeating Sakaki's Viridian City Team. In the Japanese Empire, corporately sponsored and collegially sponsored Teams could play each other.  
  
Rumor had it that the Viridian City Gymnasium and its Team, led by Giovanni Sakaki, had ties with the Japanese Mafia, known as Team Rocket or the Rocket Gang. Leslie was slightly prejudiced against Italians because of one of his Ex's happened to be Italian, and she happened to have mistreated him. So because Sakaki was part Italian and the Mafia originated from the Italian Republic, Leslie had his Reservations on the Legitimacy of the Sponsorship that Viridian City had.  
  
Every body had their Quirks, and Duncan MacDuff Leslie was slightly prejudiced against those who held a certain Nationality corresponding to any one of his Ex's. What was even more unusual, was that he looked at Nationality and not actual Ethnicity. Besides … he thought it was screwed up for a Japanese Man to have an Italian Name. He certainly had his strange Quirks about him, but he had one female Assistant, and all were Japanese. On top of that, he liked Oriental Women. Because he had a Record of five home Victories and only one home Loss, most Fans overlooked his unusual personal Attributes. Most People held his temper Tantrums against him, but the Fans only got more excited seeing him angry. When ever they saw his Visor or Baseball Cap on the Ground, those Fans were on their Feet cheering. As long as he did well and won, they would put up with his smoking, drinking, swearing, and what ever else he might do that City or School Officials might not like.  
  
Of course, most Gymnasiums were owned and run by individual Cities who leased the Use of it to the Teams. It was very profitable for the Cities and the Coaches. Leslie coached a Pocket Monster Team that was sponsored by one of Tokyo's largest Colleges. Coach Leslie figured he would have Access to Laboratories, better Equipment, a top-class Gymnasium, and eager Candidates for Assistant Positions. It was perfectly kosher for Coach Leslie to make some extra Money, though. He only got paid a Percentage of Ticket Sales and a base Salary through which the City of Tokyo and the Tokyo Polytechnic Institute agreed to give him.  
  
Olympian Athletics currently had the Deal with Leslie. They saw not just a Coach, but also the only Caucasian head Coach in either the Imperial Pokémon League or the Japanese Institutional Pokémon Association. Once they signed Duncan MacDuff Leslie to a three Year Deal worth approximately nine hundred thousand Yen, Olympian Athletics expected their Sales in Clothing and Equipment to go up. All he had to do was where the Clothes they gave to him. Leslie even had them place a Clause in the Contract that would allow him to wear a Suit and Tie for the Tournament … if he made it that far. He could not even win the Association's Crown, yet. On a side Note, an Official with Olympian Athletics has always had to pick up Coach Leslie's Visor from the Ground because of his Contract forcing him to wear it. As mentioned before, the Fans sure got excited when ever their Coach lost his Temper enough to toss his Headgear onto the Ground.  
  
The Way it was set up, even though there were two Leagues (one for those sponsored by Cities and/or Corporations and one sponsored by Cities and/or Schools), the Imperial Japanese Pocket Monster Tournament selected any major Team who has completed at least twelve Games and won at least eight of them. You had to win at least three more Victories than Defeats. Also, you could play no more twenty Games. Therefore, if you had a twenty-Game Schedule, then your worst qualifying Record would be twelve Victories and eight Defeats. They did not care who you played … but it would effect where they would rank you. If the Tournament Officials looked at Coach Leslie's Team and said they were inferior, they would match them up with the Team they saw as one of the best.  
  
Like it mattered for poor Duncan now … sitting beneath the Lights, Eyes, Mouths, Sounds, … the Pressure of what it was like to finally be a head Coach. He swallowed hard as he filtered the noisy, clamoring Voices of maybe a grand Total of maybe forty Journalists, Photographers, and Broadcasters. Leslie did not want to, but he had to. Coach Duncan MacDuff Leslie was representing the Institute and the City. He hated Press Conferences after Losses more than any thing. If one thing was for sure, he was in a shitty Mood. And for another, he knew some body was going to ask a smart-ass Question and piss him off even more than he already was. He just finished his first ever Season in the Japanese Empire and won only Half of his Games. And it was Sakaki who cost him his winning Season … and any dim Shot of a play-in Game to get into the Tournament.  
  
Every one of the Media Officials was ready to begin. Coach Leslie, his Assistants, and the Players had just gotten back to the Institute from playing Sakaki's Viridian City Team. The Press Conference was being held in a special Room just for Press Conferences in the Gymnasium Complex. Hands were already raised. Speaking in rough Japanese with a mixed Scottish Accent, Leslie pointed to one Man he recognized from previous Games and said, "I will let you ask me the first Question."  
  
"Coach Leslie," spoke the tall, balding Reporter deeply, "do you look at this Season as a Success or a Failure?"  
  
It was a decent enough Question. "Well, sir, in order for the Season to be a Success, we, as a Team, would have had to have succeeded at some thing. In my Opinion," he rolled on with a slightly irritated Tone, "we succeeded at Mediocrity. Even if we had won eight Games, I doubt we really would have deserved the Tournament. We failed to achieve our Goals. A winning Record was one. We did not succeed. Undefeated here in Tokyo was another Goal. We failed miserably. Making the Tournament was our last Goal. Our Team ended up making Asses of our selves when we lost four Games in a Row. This Season was a Failure, sir! And I am more pissed off about it than any body else."  
  
Speaking in Japanese with an irritated Voice only made his Accent come out and make his Answers more difficult to understand. Coach Leslie pointed at some Woman who was wearing a very nice Business Suit. He liked Woman who dressed nicely … he also liked Oriental Woman … he might give her two Questions if he could get her Telephone Number. "Yes, Madam, I shall answer your Question next."  
  
"How safe do you feel your one female Assistant's Position is right now?"  
  
What sort of Remark was that? Was she a Feminist? Or a Liberal? How could he respond? Before it was too late, Leslie said the infamous Words without even thinking.  
  
"Well, if you grant me a private Interview over Dinner tomorrow, I might give you the Job."  
  
And there it was. Duncan MacDuff Leslie's Mouth had done it once more. He realized what he had said, and his Ears and Face turned as dark a Shade of Cardinal as his Golf Shirt and Visor. He felt better seeing the young, pretty Reporter's Face also turn Cardinal. He made things even worse by uttering, "Hey! Both of our Faces are cardinal! How is that for showing Pride in the Cardinal and White Six!"  
  
Another stupid Joke parted his Lips. He had to recover some how. "To answer your Question, Madam," Leslie quickly tried to say, "Nishijima Shizuka is safe. I need her on this Team as my Special Attacks Coordinator. Next Season … Shizuka … I mean Coach Nishijima will be playing just as big a Role as she was this Year … maybe slightly more."  
  
Duncan seemed to have pulled it off, but there was no stopping this Guy. "Was there another Question, Madam?" he asked the same attractive Oriental Lady.  
  
She stuttered just slightly before asking, "Are you planning on any Personnel Changes at all?" It was probably the only thing she could think of. She was not even expecting to be granted a second Question.  
  
"What a Shame!" the Coach exhaled. "I was hoping you would ask about that private Interview!" Then he started laughing louder than any body else, just to cover up his crazy Remarks. "No, I am not. All current Coaches and my Trainer will stay."  
  
Duncan removed his Visor and ran his tired Fingers through his Hair. "Who next …" he asked rhetorically into the Microphones. He picked out one Guy that looked like an Ass-Hole. GOD knows why Duncan picked him out.  
  
The Reporter stood up and asked the Type of Question most Ass-Holes would ask. "Coach Leslie," the sharply-dressed Japanese Gentleman asked, "do you feel comfortable and stable being the only American Pocket Monster Coach in either League? And why are all of your Assistants Japanese?" He sat down.  
  
Knowing he had been asked two stupid Questions, and knowing he had brought it on him self by picking a Guy that just looked like an Ass-Hole, he answered stupidly. "Am I comfortable? No, I have a Kidney Infection. Am I stable? Thanks to the City and Institute, I am, financially, very stable. Why are my Assistants Japanese? Their Parents schtooped one Night." He said the Word schtooped in English just to confuse the Media and also clue them in that he said some thing inappropriate for young Children.  
  
"By the by, I am ethnically Scottish. That is where I was educated. As for Nationality, I was born in North Carolina, so I am a North Carolinian, not an American," Leslie retorted with an Air of Southern Pride.  
  
"Any other Questions?" Leslie asked to every body. The same Reporter waved his Hand, yet Leslie brushed him off by repeating his Question thrice more, and then pointing at some Man with his Sleeves rolled up writing down Notes on a small Tablet.  
  
"How does it feel to have completed your first Season, Coach?" the Man muttered out after fumbling for a Question.  
  
"Good Question," he lied," but how am I supposed to feel? In one of the united States, I could never become an Eddie Robinson, a Tom Landry, a Frank Howard, or a Steve Spurrier in Pocket Monster Leagues. I feel shitty right now." And he said that last Curse in English as well. "I could never become a Phog Allen or Adolf Rupp. I feel … like I need a Bath … and a Nurse … and one Cuban to go with a Bottle of Beringer white Zinfandel … that is what I feel like."  
  
Leslie rubbed his Eyes and scratched his Head. "You," he said as he pointed out to another Journalist.  
  
"What are your Predictions for next Season, Coach Leslie?" asked the one who was pointed out.  
  
"We will win the whole damn thing," Leslie yawned out. "Thank you for the Coverage, but I must go talk with my Team. Thank you all for coming out." He really did not seem happy, pleased, or even appreciative when he said this. He was tired, upset, bitter, and really longing for a Woman, a Cigar, and a Bottle of Zinfandel.  
  
"Oh, I forgot!" Duncan shouted out to the Media as they were leaving. Luckily for the Audiences at Home, the Television Crews got this last Remark on Film before leaving. "Any body have a Cigar? Consider it a Loan for our first Victory next Season."  
  
* * *  
  
Like a solitary Foot Soldier marching through the Mud of a beaten Track in a Battlefield where his Army had just lost recently, Coach Leslie solemnly walked through the Corridor down to the Team's meeting Room. Pausing before getting within earshot of where his Players and Coaches were waiting for him, he viciously kicked at the Brick Wall, decoratively painted in Cardinal and White, as he let out a full Tirade of English Curses that were not very pleasant for any body that did not appreciate George Carlin's Humour. Over his Knee, he broke his Clipboard and tossed it down the Hall. Leslie's Face was covered in Perspiration, and his Shirt had come out of his Slacks. Besides two Tears of Anguish and Emotion … nothing more came out of him. He wiped his Face and tucked his Shirt back in.  
  
Leslie stopped right at the Meeting Room Door. So much Emotions were penned up inside of him. He was angry, infuriated, depressed, sad, ill, bitter, nauseous, outraged, humiliated, and exhausted. Oh well, at least it was not a losing Season. Using the Flat of his Palm, he punched at the Wall, shouting out in Frustration, "Fuck!" Calming down, Leslie opened the Door and entered with a Face set in Stone, slamming the Door shut so hard, Gymnasium Officials on other Floors claim they heard it.  
  
The head Coach swallowed as if nothing mattered. The assistant Coaches swallowed as if their Jobs mattered. Their Pocket Monsters all sat together in their respective Classes with each Assistant. There were four Classes of Six for a total of twenty-four Pokémon. Pokémon were unusual Creatures. They were sentient, yet not at all Human. It was strange how they understood Speech and Commands and even felt a wide Range of Emotions. They were higher than the base Animals in Duncan MacDuff Leslie's Mind. He viewed them as a Class of Creature … inferior to the Humans in Terms of Power of the Mind, yet all other Creatures on the Globe were inferior to them in Terms of physical Prowess. Needless to say, he had a lot to learn about the psychic Pocket Monsters. Leslie had none on his Squad. It was almost as if his current ones were psychic, for each one felt an earful coming.  
  
"This is it, and this is how you have completed a sorry-ass Season for now," he started. "But, you had best mark my Words and know that you will never ever finish like that again! GOD damn it, I have seen better Performances at a fucking Circus! Do you consider your selves Circus Animals?" He said this last Sentence pointing at them individually, looking at them in Directions.  
  
"Your Problem is Pride and Spirit!" he continued. "If you had any, we would be in the Tournament! SHIT! I can not believe this!" He tore his Visor off of his Head and hurled it against the Wall. "I have Half of a Mind to start anew and go hunt some wild Pocket Monsters for next Season. Do you want that?! GOD damn it, you better not! You had better take Pride in who and what you are! NOTHING pisses me off more than those who forget who they are and fail because of it!"  
  
They had gotten used to him cursing in English. The only Problem is, they knew he was cursing, and that just meant that his Intensity had increased dramatically. When they knew he was cursing, it was just as bad as if it had been in Japanese or any other Language. Leslie actually used English Commands to confuse his Opponents. It did not work as well as he had thought.  
  
"All of you are better than Circus Animals!" he yelled at them. "None of you are that base! You can think and feel for your selves! You joined with me because you wanted to battle instead of just living your Lives out in the Japanese Wilderness." Leslie was pacing as he yelled at them, pointing his Fingers, kicking at nothing. "I had a Selection Process and I selected you twenty-four! I CAN de-select you if you fail to meet my Expectations! If my Expectations are too high, then get the Hell off of my Team and leave right now. I promise I will hold no Grudge against you for leaving, because if your Pride has sunk that Low, you will be doing me a Favour."  
  
The Coach walked around, inspecting his Players, seeing if any would leave. After walking past every single one of them, they all stayed. Coach Leslie smiled. "I see your Pride is still there."  
  
"Moriyama Yugi!" shouted their Leader as he swirled on his Feet towards their offensive Coordinator. "I picked you out of Hundreds! HUNDREDS!" His Face was grim and dark. "Do not DARE disappoint me with such lackluster training Methods! If you want your Job, you are going to work your Ass off for it. If you improve, then I will give you a Raise. If you disappoint me again, you will not be a happy Man, Moriyama."  
  
Yugi was hired at the young Age of twenty Years fresh out of the Imperial Academy of Biological Sciences. Yugi had earned his Degree in Pokémon Genetics and had also done field Research with Rock Pokémon.  
  
Pivoting in the opposite Direction, he decided to chew out his defensive coordinator. "Kimura Shinji, if there is ONE thing I absolutely fucking hate, it is when I see my Team losing defensively! Do you understand me?!" Leslie scratched briefly at his Brow as he screamed at Shinji, who sat there, taking the verbal Beating about as well as Yugi. "If you dare humiliate me again like this last Time, I will seriously mess you up!" He softened up just slightly. "If you improve greatly, then you get a Raise … and a Bonus."  
  
Needing a defensive Coordinator, Leslie contacted a Man from Hokkaido who specialized in both Ghost and Psychic Pokémon. Both of which, happened to be Coach Leslie's weak Points. Shinji was only nineteen Years of Age, but he definitely had a good Head on his Shoulders. Leslie needed some body with a Mind like Shinji's, and since the latter had been longing for national Attention and Fame in the Realm of professional Pocket Monster Sports, he agreed to work on Leslie's Staff.  
  
Coach Leslie bent down, leaning on his Knees, taking in several Breaths. He looked at his Special Attacks Coordinator dead in her Eyes. "Nishijima Shizuka, I am NOT satisfied with the development of the natural Talent that our Players have. They can do things that were only Myth and Legend before Pocket Monsters were discovered. I placed my Trust in you out of hundreds of College Graduates across the four major Islands. Improve … that is all I have to say to you … and do not watch the News."  
  
He had complimented her too much in that Press Conference. If he gives them too much Praise, then they fail to have that need to improve.  
  
Shizuka was chosen by Duncan because of her special Education in Eevee training and evolutionary Stones. She was just two Years younger than Leslie making her twenty-four and the oldest Assistant.  
  
"Yoshida Keisuke," Leslie said to his Head Trainer and Strength and Conditioning Coach, "we have been overpowered all Season long. You have some serious Work to do until next Season. Get it done."  
  
Keisuke was a twenty-three year old Lad hailing from the Nagasaki College of Biology, who graduated with Honours with a Degree in Anatomy and graduated with high Honours with a second Degree in Physiology from the Honshu Institute of Health and Medicine.  
  
None of them replied. They knew their Places. Duncan MacDuff Leslie was in charge of this Operation, and they were his Assistants. The Japanese were a People of Respect, Dignity, and Honour. Leslie knew he could use this to his Gain. If all they lived for was to avoid Disrespect or Disappointment, then he would just LOVE coaching in the Japanese Empire. And he did. Leslie played on that social Fear to its very Limits, and even though he considered the Season a Failure, he was still convinced that his Theory was sound.  
  
He was still trying to regain his Composure. Angry he was, but some of it was intentional. Leslie figured he had bitched at them enough. It was probably time to wrap things up. He wanted to take a Bath before he could enjoy a Cigar and a Bottle of Zinfandel. If he could find him self a Woman, that would be even better! Three great Ways to get rid of Stress and Anxiety: Cigars, Wine, and Women.  
  
"All right, now listen up," Coach Leslie said, as he was finishing up "it has been a very long and arduous Season It is all over for now, but we will begin again in the next few Months. It is the thirty-first of December and the Tournament will end in the Beginning of February. I will get Tickets so you can see some Winners for a Change. In April, we will begin our spring Training and Conditioning Sessions. During the Summer, we start our full- length Practice Sessions. Each of you will be accompanied by your individual Assistant Coach. Meowth, Koffing, Eckens, Rattata, Bellsprout, and Farfetched: you will all accompany me through the Off-Season. Pikachu, Squirtle, Charmander, Bulbasaur, Geodude, and Sandshrew: Coach Moriyama will take care of you. Magnemite, both Nidorans, Spearow, Pidgey, and Paras: follow Coach Kimura. Diglett, Abra, Drowzee, Likitung, Eevee, and Ditto: you will go with Coach Nishijima. She will take good care of you. Shower up and get out of here; I am sick of looking at a mediocre Team. Be a better Team tomorrow. Be better every Day."  
  
Leslie trudged into his individual Shower Room, ready to enjoy the Off- Season ousted from the Tournament. That Way, he could piss and moan at his Apartment and just be angry at not being in the Play-Offs. There were five individual Shower Rooms for each Coach, and one large Shower Room for the Pocket Monsters to freshen up in together. The Reason Leslie requested separate Shower Rooms was in the case that he might hire a female Assistant, and he did.  
  
As soon as the Door slammed shut, every body else acted upon it. "Start moving, Players," said Coach Moriyama as he walked into his Shower Room, followed by Coaches Kimura, Nishijima, and Yoshida into their respective Shower Rooms. The Pokémon also followed Suit and used their automated showering Devices. Afterward, they managed to leave before Leslie got out.  
  
He was enjoying soaking up in his Bath. He had sweat it out enough that Day to last a long Time. He sure loved taking Baths, where he could relax. Yawning, he stretched over to the Counter, opened up a Humidor, pulled out a Cuban, and lit it up. From beneath a Table holding his Clothes was a Cooler. Within was a Bottle of Beringer white Zinfandel. Puffing away at his Cigar, he got a Corkscrew, uncorked the Bottle, and poured him self a large Glass.  
  
"What a Day it has been," he said in his native English as he leaned back into the Tub, steaming over with the moist Heat he needed to soothe his aching Muscles. Finally, Duncan was smiling.  
  
* * *  
  
Duncan dried off and got dressed in a fresh warm-up Suit of cardinal, white, and navy Nylon to keep him warm. He had finished off his entire Cigar, and Half of the Bottle of white Zinfandel. Straightening his Turtleneck and getting his Keys, Duncan left his private Shower Room and almost slipped on the wet Tile Floor. "Shit!" he shouted in Pain as he felt a Muscle in his Back twist. "Who left the bloody Floor wet?!" shouted the angry Coach in vain knowing it was common, and that no one was there to understand his curse-laden English.  
  
Opening the Team Room's Door to leave, he was surprised (most pleasantly) to find that very attractive Oriental Reporter who asked him a few Questions at the Press Conference.  
  
"Hey there!" said he in English just to surprise her.  
  
"Good Evening, Coach Leslie," she said politely. "I hope I am not bothering you so late tonight."  
  
"Please, Madam, call me Mac," the Coach replied in nonchalant Japanese.  
  
"Mac?" She replied obviously very curious about such an odd Moniker.  
  
"It is short for MacDuff," he answered informatively. "I am Scottish, you know." And then he winked at her.  
  
"Yes," she said slowly and in a Way that told Coach Leslie that she did not seem to understand the Significance or Importance of being Scottish as much as him.  
  
"Do you have any Scotch in you?" the wry Coach asked.  
  
"No, I do not believe so," she answered not sure she understood the Question.  
  
"Would you like some Scotch in you?" he asked with a Chuckle completing the Double Entente.  
  
"I … am not sure," said the very attractive Reporter, who was even more attractive under the Influence of Alcohol. Again, she seemed unsure of what he was asking. "I wanted to know if I could take your Offer of a private Interview. You are a very unique Coach, and Individuality is not a very important social Factor amongst public Figures in the Japanese Empire."  
  
"Sure!" exclaimed the happy Coach. "Let us go back to my Place and talk some Sports over some Kendall-Jackson Chardonnay and some of my homemade Spinach and Artichoke Dip."  
  
"You mean complete the Interview tonight?" she said inquisitively, very surprised that he would want to do so at such a late Hour. She had seen his temper Tantrums on Television, so his current mild and pleasant Mood puzzled her to no Extent. "And at your House? Are you sure?" This Reporter had absolutely no Idea where Mac was heading.  
  
Later than Night, she left his Apartment in haste, straightening her Blouse and getting her Jacket on, looking very distressed. Inside, Coach Leslie was in his Bed, puffing away at a Cigar, swallowing Wine from a Bottle. The Reporter's Glass was on the Floor, and it was empty. Her Wine was on Coach Leslie's Face.  
  
Maybe next Season would fare better for him. Pocket Monster Battles was what he lived for … next to Women, Wine, and Cigars. However, the Latter three did not pay for them selves … and the Women only would if Duncan got married, and he was not about to do such a rash thing like Marriage. He loved Pocket Monsters, and he loved Battling. He could enjoy Women, Wine, and Cigars for the next few Months … well … he could enjoy the Wine and Cigars at least. In a few Months, he would be back to work doing what he loved far more than Cubans, Glasses of white Zinfandel, and cute Oriental Reporters: coaching Pocket Monsters in set Matches of Battle. For that, he would have to wait until next Season. And for that, he would wait … a very long time. He loved it that much. But, the Year never ended for him. Sports remained a continuous Cycle. And rather shortly, Duncan MacDuff Leslie was at it as usual, as if no Time had passed at all. In Sports, the Reality was that barely any Time at all had gone by.  
  
Leslie puffed on his Cigar, gulped down the rest of the Chardonnay straight from the Bottle, and said the Cliché in English; "Well … two out of three ain't bad." And with the Reporter's Wine still on his Face, he promptly passed out.  
  
* * *  
  
Chapter One:  
  
Post-Season Tournament and Reflection  
  
"Damnation, I broke another Pencil," head Coach Leslie exclaimed as he hurriedly wrote down Notes as he watched one of the Tournament Games with his Players and Coaches. "Hand me a Pen, some body." Coach Yoshida gave him one as he shouted with firm Determination of Point to him and his other three Coaches, "And my four Assistants had better be taking Notes as well!" 


End file.
